


Treading Water

by palavapeite



Series: Children of Lesser Gods [3]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Abandonment, Alaska, Clint and Phil are an old married couple, Clint has a heart of gold, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Helicopters, Lovers to Friends, Psychological Torture, assassin brOT3, the director of SHIELD can be a dick, to hell with orders, when he's not trying to pick up anyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 15:17:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palavapeite/pseuds/palavapeite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An incident at SHIELD puts loyalties and friendships to the test.</p>
<p>Takes place about half a year after “Moving on Ice”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treading Water

The clicking of the front door lock attracted Clint's attention and he turned his head away from the TV, looking at the man who stepped into the apartment.

“I was beginning to think the zombie apocalypse had happened and I missed it because I'm away enjoying my first day off in – and I counted – eight weeks!” he said and Phil Coulson snorted, dropping his keys onto a small counter by the door.

“And you chose to enjoy it in your handler's apartment? Get a life, Barton.” Kicking off his shoes and rubbing his face, he walked over to the couch and sat down, elbowing Clint to move over.

“Maria's taken the evening off,” Phil sighed, snatching Clint's bottle of beer from him. “So much for the zombie apocalypse. Had to stay in longer and take care of pressurised metal tubes flying at high speed across Siberia while avoiding Fury, who’s trying to get me into some stupid admin project of his...”

“You didn’t happen to see Natasha at HQ, did you?” Clint asked, raising an eyebrow when Phil seemed to have no intention of handing him back his beer. “She's not answering her phone and I know she’s not out on a mission...”

Phil, who had loosened his tie and put his feet up on the low living room table, shook his head.

“SHIELD girls' night out,” he replied, emptying what was left of Clint's beer. “I think they have a no-phonecalls policy.”

Clint looked liked he'd just been slapped.

“You're kidding me,” he muttered eventually, slumping back into the sofa. “I thought Bobbi was pulling my leg about that...” He looked at Phil, who rolled his eyes, and grimaced. “And Natasha agreed to go?”

Phil raised an eyebrow at him as he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled back his sleeves.

“I believe it was Bobbi who invited her along. They've been working and training together a lot, so I don't see why she wouldn't?” He pointed towards the small kitchen. “Is there food?”

“Yeah, I made dinner earlier. I was under the foolish impression someone would be around to eat it,” Clint muttered and followed Phil to the fridge, flexing his arms and shoulders as he went.

“You know, I can't really imagine Natasha drinking with Hill and the rest...” he said, leaning against the counter while Phil rummaged in the fridge. When Phil looked at him quizzically, he shrugged and replied. “Well, she's not really 'SHIELD girl', right? She's... Natasha.”

“She works for SHIELD now. And they're going out for _drinks_ ,” Phil rolled his eyes. “They're not a secret cult or anything.” He pulled a sealed glass dish half out of the fridge and lifted the lid. “What _is_ this?”

“Oh,” Clint groaned and signed him to move over. He suddenly sounded very busy. “You are going to _love_ this, Coulson. It's stuffed turkey breast with prosciutto di parma, Swiss chard and cheese. To go with it I have assembled vegetables, only gently steamed, with this very light sauce that is to die for...”

“I should have destroyed the second set of keys before you had a chance to steal them,” Phil sighed, tiredly watching as Clint arranged it all onto a plate and dug around in the silverware drawer for knife and fork.

“There you go. I cooked along to 'Gourmet Kitchenette' with Graham Partridge,” Clint replied smugly, getting himself another beer while Phil carried his food back to the couch. “I looked up the ingredients beforehand on the internet. I tell you, this is awesome – easy to cook, tastes like heaven _and_ ,” he grinned manically, giving Phil’s waist a daring pat as he sat down next to him, “it is low on fat and cholesterol.”

Phil stopped chewing his broccoli for a second and contemplated his knife, seemingly wondering whether he shouldn't perhaps rather make a stab at Clint with it.

“Did Graham also do the dishes when he was done cooking?” he asked innocently, casually looking at the pile of pots and pans in the sink.

Clint's face grew dark and Phil smirked.

“Thought so.”

“You should invest in a dishwasher,” Clint muttered, focusing on the screen. Phil looked like he wanted to reply something smart, but then thought better of it. Shoving another load of low-calorie vegetables onto his fork he nodded at the screen.

“What's this?”

“Random movie with that guy from that other one that you like so much. It has bombs in it. I think. Well, this one's the bad guy; right now he’s planning to hold the good guy’s wife and kid hostage because of something that happened to his sister... or maybe the wife is his sister, I might’ve dozed off there for a second...”

“Did you mess with the DVR?”

“Yeah, right. Because I have a death wish.”

Chewing, Phil frowned critically at the screen for a moment, on which people he didn't know were commenting on what they were supposedly doing. When he'd swallowed, he shook his head.

“Junk. This thing couldn't even blow up a stack of napkins...”

“It's really suspenseful!” Clint protested, holding the remote out of Phil's reach with a grin. “Besides, you always nag at movies. Hell, you nag about 'Supernanny'...”

“Well, I don't see how her tricks are supposed to-” Phil pressed out, trying to catch hold of Clint's hand without upsetting the plate he'd rested on his knees.

Scratching noises coming from the door made them both freeze, Clint's arm still raised high to keep Phil from grabbing the remote.

There was more scratching, metal on metal.

They looked at each other.

“Burglar?” Clint mouthed and Phil snorted, putting his plate down on the table and stepping over Clint's outstretched legs to get to the door. Someone seemed to be fumbling with the lock on the outside. And not in a very subtle way.

Sighing, Phil pushed down the handle and pulled.

“Oh!” a surprised Natasha groaned and Phil only just caught her before she fell flat on her face onto the the small pile of carelessly kicked off shoes by the door.

“Natasha?” Clint asked, watching bewildered how she regained her balance and straightened up, supporting herself on Phil's shoulder.

“Oh, Phil, I'm so sorry,” she muttered, looking down at the mess of shoes and handing Phil the hairpin she'd apparently tried to pick the lock with.

“It's okay,” Phil replied, looking like he was biting back his laughter as he helped her onto the couch, where Clint moved over to make space, his nose twitching.

“Are you _drunk_?” Clint grinned at Natasha, watching her brush strands of her hair out of her face. “Are you seriously drunk? From what, a drink with the girls?”

Natasha slapped him carelessly on the stomach.

“You have no idea...” she breathed, accepting the glass of water Phil handed her. “Kat is like... she's not human...!”

She gulped down the water greedily.

“Oh, I have no further questions. Ferrante drinks Fury under the table at Christmas parties,” Phil agreed, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth as he sat back down next to Natasha and went back to what was left of his dinner. When he saw her frowning at his plate, he offered her a bite of turkey, which she declined with a wrinkling of her nose.

“Can I crash here tonight?” she asked, eyes slightly off focus. “I can so not go back to HQ in this state, they won't even let me in...”

Phil chuckled and nodded, when Clint protested:

“Hey, wait, what about me? I made you dinner!” He pointed his finger at Phil accusingly. “On my day off! And now you're gonna send me back to HQ?”

“After you've done the dishes, that is,” Phil added nonchalantly and Clint glared at him.

Phil held his gaze for a moment, then rolled his eyes, shoving the last vegetable into his mouth.

“Bed and couch” he munched. “We'll find space for three, Barton. Trust me.”

“You're a life-saver,” Natasha sighed and quickly closed her mouth to swallow a hiccup. When Phil got up to add his plate to the pile of dishes in the sink, Clint shuffled closer to Natasha on the couch.

“So where are the others going, then? Hill lives at HQ... wait, is there going to be security footage tomorrow? Of her crawling down the corridors asking the people walking by which way is up?” Clint asked, a gleeful shine in his eyes and Natasha giggled.

“She's staying at Ferrante's place, somewhere in Harlem,” she replied, leaning her head back against the pillow. “I was walking Bobbi home and then figured I could maybe...” She eyed Phil, who was squeezing back in between her and the cushion at the end of the couch.

“Break into my apartment?” he offered dryly and she groaned, dropping her head against his shoulder.

“Come on, Agent Coulson...” she began and he took off his tie, giving Clint a sign.

“It's all right, I said you could stay...” He got up and helped her up from the couch. “But first...” he grinned, when Clint grabbed Natasha's other arm. “Shower. The sheets are freshly laundered.”

“Nooo! I don’t wanna... I can sleep on the floor...!”

Clint fleetingly thought that if Natasha hadn't been quite so out of it, she'd probably have managed to knock them both out as they dragged her to the bathroom. Luckily, Coulson seemed largely unfazed by her protests and struggles, as if he dealt with such situations on a daily basis. 

“C'mon, Miss Romanoff, we forced Clint to take one, too! Remember?” he admonished when they had set her down in the tub. “It's only fair! Don’t make me get my taser!”

She glared at him for a moment, apparently pondering his argument.

“What? When did you...?” Clint's eyes widened. “I have no recollection of that!”

Natasha's eyes flickered to him, then she suddenly giggled.

“Yeah, maybe _you_ don’t. But I have record of you singing ‘New York, New York’ enthusiastically while I hosed you down like a dirty puppy...”

Clint glared at her and Phil snickered, pulling a towel from one of the cupboards. He threw it at Clint and motioned towards Natasha.

“Time to pay her back, then. Watch that she doesn't drown. I'm going to go and conjure up another pillow and blanket...”

Watching Phil close the bathroom door behind him, Clint turned back to Natasha, pointing at her clothes.

“Those will need to come off, you know.”

“Oh, make me, Barton,” she replied, but began to take off her clothes, partly with his assistance. When he helped her sit down and lean back into the tub, she sighed and let herself be scrubbed down without further struggle, closing her eyes and happily letting Clint do the work.

“Arms up,” he commanded when he eventually towelled her down. Smiling at him sleepily, she obeyed, swaying slightly. Clint grinned, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Is this where you proposition me and we have drunk sex on Coulson's bed?” he chuckled, wrapping the towel around her body when she rested her arms around his neck. Her forehead drooped onto his shoulder and she shook her head as Clint continued, grinning. “Don't think he'd like to sleep on the couch, but I'm sure he'd understand... we’ve not had drunk sex on his bed yet!”

“Not tonight, Barton,” Natasha muttered, kissing him softly before burying her face in the crook of his neck. “Ask someone else.”

***

“I hope you’ve got a hangover the size of the helicarrier,” Clint greeted Natasha as he fell into step next to her. “You deserve it. You are the worst blanket-hogger there is.”

“Sucks for you,” Natasha grinned at him. “I feel fresh like a newborn, Barton, and I wasn’t the one who overslept this morning and looks like a soggy slice of toast. You could have taken the couch.” 

“Yeah, right,” Clint snorted. “I was there first. I had a right to the bed; the couch is horrible...”

“Should’ve shoved me out, then,” Natasha smirked and Clint rolled his eyes.

“As if Coulson would have let me, with the way you were curled all around him,” he grunted. “Don’t think I don’t know what you did there!” 

Chuckling to herself, Natasha turned a corner into yet another corridor, Clint at her heels. 

“So where are you headed, then?” she asked, getting out her ID to swipe through one of the security locks into the lab area. “Are you going to get revenge by following me around all day accusing me of blanket-hogging in front of the other kids?” 

Clint eyed her darkly for a moment as he stepped into the elevator behind her and pressed the button.

“No,” he eventually said. “I was going to find Bobbi and grill her for sordid details about your girls’ night out before telling people at the range what a blanket-hogger you are...”

“You have better chances getting Fury’s mother’s maiden name out of him on a bad day,” Natasha replied smugly and Clint pursed his lips.

“We shall see. My interrogation techniques are sneaky.” 

“Uh-huh.”

The triply secured doors to the biology laboratories parted before them and they stepped in, looking around for Bobbi. She was nowhere to be seen; the lab was quiet and looked almost deserted.

“Can I help you?” a slightly distracted voice spoke and chemist Dr. Franc Lužič, head of the department himself, came out of his little office to greet them. He looked mildly surprised, but then again, Clint thought, he looked like that most of the time. He’d never seen the man look any different, although Bobbi had told him he could get quite ranty if he’d overslept. 

“The Black Widow,” Lužič held out his hand to Natasha. “Pleasure to see you here. I just finished Agent Morse’s paper yesterday. I am impressed.” 

“I take that as a compliment,” Natasha replied, shaking his hand briefly. Lužič looked at Clint and nodded in greeting, seemingly at a loss of what to say. 

“Agent Barton. Have you come to surrender your bag of tricks for the greater good of science, too?” 

Clint cleared his throat.

“I don’t think so, Dr Lužič.” He smirked. “And I don’t deal in poisons as much as I do in explosives, anyway.” 

Lužič laughed awkwardly and glanced from Clint to Natasha and back. 

“Agent Morse isn’t in,” he eventually said with a slight start, as if it had just occurred to him. “I presume you’re looking for her?”

“Yes,” Natasha replied, smiling as if she was entirely unaware of how awkward the situation was. “I came to get my darts back. I’m leaving for an op tomorrow. Bobbi said I could come and pick them up.” 

Lužič frowned at her for a moment, then gave a slight jerk.

“Yes. Yes, of course. They must be here somewhere...” He began to rummage around in the drawers of what Clint knew was Bobbi’s desk and workspace, eventually drawing out a glass case with Natasha’s wristbands in it. He fumbled with the lid, then took them out. 

“They really are quite something,” he muttered, turning one of them over between his hands. “The mechanisms...” He ran his fingers over the rib of the wristband that contained not poison but the trigger system and technological finery. He gestured at his office. “As I said, I only just read the paper...” He fell quiet and put down the wristband, looking around as if he was trying to find something. 

Clint, who had watched quietly, was no longer surprised that people thought Lužič was a nutcase. A genius, probably, Clint wasn’t in any position to tell, but definitely borderline crazy. It seemed like he was only able to communicate with chemicals before they were assembled to form a human being, and that was putting it mildly. 

“There are papers,” the man muttered, running a hand through his curly, blond hair, looking almost a little panicked. “To sign. Before I can give them back...” 

Lužič threw Natasha a quick glance and Clint wondered whether he was scared of her. He had to admit there were more irrational reactions to having the Black Widow standing in your laboratory. 

After some semi-confused browsing through stacks of paper on Bobbi’s desk, Lužič eventually pulled out the right forms and patted his lab coat pockets for a pen. 

“You have to sign... uh, here... I think...” he explained and shoved the form towards Natasha. “There is... ah, there is this... slight difficulty...” 

Clint raised an eyebrow and Lužič took a step back, one hand back on Natasha’s wristband. 

“You see, from the paper Miss Morse wrote I gathered... well, maybe you can help me with this, but... there doesn’t seem to be an antidote to this particular poison here... It’s numbered C630PWX in the database...” He lifted the paper up close to his face and began to fumble his glasses out of his breast pocket. “Its... uhm, its components...”

“It’s a synthetic poison,” Natasha replied calmly, glancing at the sheet of paper. “It was developed for me by one of a former employer’s scientists. I was told that a spider’s venom figured in it...”

“Really. Are you quite sure?” Lužič frowned, scanning the paper again and blinking through his glasses.

“I am no chemist,” Natasha replied frankly. “I couldn’t tell you whether it’s true. It wasn’t a poison I needed very often, either.” 

“What’s it do?” Clint asked and Lužič looked up at him, as if he’d almost forgot that he was there at all. 

“It paralyses,” Natasha explained, eyeing the wristband in Lužič’s hand. “For about twenty-four hours, thirty-six max. It will keep you alive for that time span, then the paralysis wears off.”

“And then it kills,” Lužič finished, rubbing his temple. “Yes, it says so here. Should I be counting the lab mice?” 

“I told Bobbi what the effects were,” Natasha said calmly. “She asked me about it, since the formula didn’t show up in any database of yours...”

“Why would you need a poison like that in the first place?” Clint wrinkled his nose, looking from Natasha to Lužič and back. “I mean, if it’s going to kill them anyway...”

“Assassinations,” Natasha explained. “Those where it was necessary to delay the official time of death. The component that kills will wipe out all traces of the paralysing one. Blurs the facts in case of investigation, makes it easy to frame someone, you never have to bother with getting yourself an alibi...” 

Clint felt a slight shiver going down his spine and he cleared his throat.

“I see.”

“It’s quite ingenious,” Lužič admitted. “Fascinating achievement. Unfortunately...” he looked up at Natasha and shrugged, stabbing his finger at the paper. “Director Fury and a couple of other people got to see the report before I did. So I’m forced to hold back the darts that contain this particular poison...” 

“What?” Clint blurted out. “But why?” 

Lužič looked like Clint was beginning to irritate him.

“Because there is no antidote to it known to SHIELD. It’s protocol, Agent Barton. We cannot issue our agents with such weapons if we don’t have a way of curing them...”

“Maybe you can explain to me how you have a way of curing my arrow through somebody’s eye,” Clint replied, feeling oddly annoyed with Dr. Franc Lužič and his antisocial, protocol-adhering antics. 

“Clint,” Natasha interrupted, resting her hand on his arm. “It’s okay.”

Clint glared at her, then at Lužič, who was taking off his glasses and smiling faintly.

“I have heard this particular argument before, believe me,” he said. “But I don’t make the rules.” 

“I understand,” Natasha simply replied, picking up a pen from Bobbi’s penholder. “I hardly need them, anyway. Where do I sign?” 

Watching with displeasure how Natasha took back her wristbands without the unapproved darts, Clint tried to comfort himself with the thought that Natasha, just like him, had her stash of equipment stowed away safely out of SHIELD’s reach. All the agents did; you didn’t usually join SHIELD because you did things by the book. 

Unless you were Maria Hill. 

“Clint! Natasha!” Bobbi’s surprised voice distracted him from his thoughts and he looked over to the door, where Bobbi pushed in a small cart with stacks of paper piling on top. “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect you until later... Uhm, Professor Lužič,” she added, sounding a little nervous. “I got all the files you wanted, they are sorted by date...”

“Thank you, Miss Morse,” he replied, then gestured at Natasha. “I was just returning the wristbands to Miss Romanoff, along with the approved darts.”

Bobbi bit her lip and looked extremely sorry when she glanced at Natasha. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise Fury was going to pull them...” she muttered.

“It’s no problem,” Natasha replied pleasantly. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to have much use for them on this op.”

Bobbi looked like she wanted to reply something, but Lužič spoke before she could.

“It might please you to hear that I’ve already begun working on an antidote,” he threw in, smiling with what looked like nervous excitement, then gesturing at his own lab corner. “I’ve been at it all night; it’s really... really fascinating...” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I think... for the next mission, perhaps...” 

Natasha regarded him with a long, even look, then nodded.

“Thank you, professor. That is very kind of you.” 

Smiling toothily and nodding, Lužič began to move backwards, shoulders drawn up a little awkwardly as he seemed to gesture them goodbye before moving back into his corner. 

Clint looked at Bobbi, who was stacking documents onto her desk, and grimaced at Natasha, whose face was blank and calm. 

“What a freaking weirdo,” he breathed once Bobbi had walked them both to the elevator. “Is he always like that? And you’re alone with him in that lab all day?” 

Bobbi rolled her eyes.

“Radford and his team are usually here too. They’ve got a meeting with the engineers right now; some joint project.” She pulled a face. “But yeah, he’s always like that. Usually he talks less.” She turned to Natasha. “I was going to give you back all the darts, promise. If it had been me, I’d just have taken a sample...”

“Leave it, Bobbi,” Natasha replied grimly. “I’ll survive.”

***

“Good morning, everyone,” Coulson greeted the assembled crew as he stepped into the passenger cabin of the large mission quinjet. “Running slightly late, so let’s get cracking. Are we all here and ready?”

“Just counted. All present,” Ferrante replied, handing Coulson the data tablet she’d been typing information into for the past five minutes. 

“Looks good,” Coulson confirmed, then spoke into his headset. “We’re set to go. Fire her up. Everybody, sit down!”

Taking a seat next to Natasha, Clint tried to hide his confusion at Coulson’s presence. 

“Why’s he here?” Natasha muttered, speaking Clint’s mind as they put on their seat belts. “I thought he was supposed to be Remote Mission Control. What happened to Hill?” 

Clint shrugged and turned his head to Ferrante when she sat down opposite him. 

“Slight change of plans,” Ferrante replied, looking strangely anxious for a woman Clint knew to be tough as nails. “Hill’s staying. She’s taking care of Remote with Sitwell; Coulson’s coming with us.” 

“Why?” Clint asked and Ferrante regarded him icily, then, to his surprise, sighed.

“Something came up. Now do us all a favour and shut your piehole, Barton.” 

“Aye, ma'am,” Clint muttered and exchanged a look with Natasha as the quinjet took off. 

They looked over at Coulson, who had sat down without putting on a seat belt, as he was apparently too busy logging himself into communication channels and systems, confirming statuses and giving orders. Various satellite pictures were flickering across the screen in front of him. 

“I hope you brought your cameras,” he eventually addressed the team at large. “There are some pretty impressive trees where we’re going...” 

Everyone chuckled, except for Ferrante, whose smile looked a bit forced, and Clint switched his in-ear to a private channel with Coulson. 

“Care to tell me what’s going on? Ferrante looks like she’s about to break someone’s neck and I’m the one sitting closest...” 

He could see Coulson’s lips twitch for a second, but before he could answer, the main mission channel crackled to life and Maria Hill’s voice was audible.

“ _Good morning. This is Remote Mission Control, confirm you can hear me._ ”

Rolling his eyes as he waited for his turn to say “yes”, Clint glanced at Coulson, who seemed to be chatting on a different channel now, his hand shielding his mouth from view. 

“ _Your destination is the Tongass National Forest in Alaska. Agent Coulson will brief you on the specifics, since I can’t be there myself, unfortunately. Agent Coulson?_ ”

“Thank you, Agent Hill. Some of you might have heard of the jet chase and subsequent crash two nights ago,” Coulson continued. “You will be relieved to hear that all our people have been rescued and are currently recuperating on the medical ward. Your job now is to see what happened to the hostile jet that our team managed to shoot out of the sky before the crash. We have located the wreck in this area you can see on the screens... now,” - Clint turned his head to look at what looked to him like any other forest, really - “And the plan for this mission is to see if there’s anything in there worth pillaging. From what we can see it looks like the plane is more or less intact, except for a couple of scratches and some damage to the engine and wing...”

“ _We’ve got two computer techs who will try to salvage data from the computer systems,_ ” Maria Hill added. “ _The rest of you will be securing the area around the wreck, since we can expect the crew to be hanging around._ ” 

“There will be teams searching the woods on foot,” Coulson continued and a couple of people, Natasha among them, nodded. “As well as two helicopters with snipers.” He looked at Clint, who grimaced, trying to give an impression of extreme boredom because sniper missions were entirely too Level 3 these days. Coulson rolled his eyes. 

“ _We want to make this quick, so no dawdling,_ ” Maria Hill admonished and Coulson nodded. 

“When you get the signal, return to either one of the helicopters or the quinjet, you’ll return to a designated meeting point and we can all be home by tonight,” he ended the briefing, looking around the cabin. “Any questions?”

“Who exactly are we up against?” an agent with violently yellow hair asked. “Hydra?”

“Not Hydra,” Coulson replied. “Mercs; we’re not really sure who they work for. That’s why we’re going to get intel.”

“Just trying to make an educated decision which gun to take,” the agent replied, grinning, and Natasha snorted under her breath. Clint gave her a nudge and they shared a smirk before leaning back and trying to ignore the general atmosphere of boredom that was settling around them.

Even at SHIELD speed, Alaska was a long way from New York and Ferrante, who was usually good fun on long flights, seemed to be having an extremely bad day. She didn’t look like she wanted to talk and kept throwing glances at Coulson, who appeared to be wired into a conference talk with Fury, Hill and a couple of people in white coats Clint didn’t know, talking agitatedly at a very low voice and gesticulating at the little camera. 

Something was definitely foul.

When the screen in front of Coulson finally went black, they were still twenty minutes away from their destination and Clint gave Natasha a short nudge before he unfastened his seatbelt and walked over to the comm station. 

“Am I allowed to know what’s wrong?” he asked quietly and Coulson looked up at him, raising his eyebrows, then sighing. 

“I’m not sure,” he muttered, looking around. “You’ve got a mission coming up.”

“And we all know I work so much better when I have no idea what’s going on?” Clint replied and Coulson smirked. 

“Touché.” 

“So,” Clint crouched down next to Coulson. “Why’d Hill not come along? Why you? Don’t get me wrong,” Clint added quickly. “I take you over Hill any day, but that was pretty short notice...”

“It was frantic emergency rescheduling, that’s what it was,” Coulson spoke quietly. “They are still this close to calling this mission off.” When Clint didn’t reply, Coulson wet his lips and continued. “Nineteen didn’t come to work this morning. When she wouldn’t pick up her phone, either, we went looking and found her unconscious in her apartment. She’s in medical right now...”

Clint stared at Coulson, speechless for a moment. Bobbi was...

“So this is why Hill stayed behind? Because Nineteen’s one of hers...” Coulson nodded. “Do we know what happened?” 

Coulson’s mouth was a thin line and he looked around the cabin whether anybody was watching them, or listening. His eyes lingered on Natasha, who looked ever watchful, and Ferrante, who looked positively haunted. 

“That’s where it gets nasty, you see,” Coulson eventually said, opening a file on a small screen that couldn’t be seen from the cabin. “The test results just came back half an hour ago.”

“C630PWX,” Clint read, frowning in confusion. Then his eyes widened. “Wait, that’s...”

“The Widow’s poison,” Coulson confirmed, sounding tired. “Yes.”

“So they think Natasha...?” Clint blurted out, glaring at Coulson. “That’s ridiculous! Bobbi was working with that poison with Lužič, developing an antidote! There must be hundreds of explanations how...!” 

“I told them so. The poison was in SHIELD hands at the time, anyone could’ve...” Coulson muttered, running a hand through his hair. “It’s paranoia. Fury seems to believe Natasha wanted to get back at Bobbi for getting parts of her equipment confiscated.”

Clint snorted.

“For fuck’s sake, as if Natasha cared. She could poison half of SHIELD with the stash she’s got at the back of your spice cabinet.”

“Yeah, I know, but I can hardly tell Fury that,” Coulson snapped before pressing his lips together. “And he’s being so irrationally stubborn about it. I told them it was madness, that they were jumping to dangerous conclusions and that I wasn’t going to believe them before they brought me good evidence.” 

“And did that help in any way?” Clint asked, glancing at Natasha, who was talking in a low voice with Ferrante. 

“I don’t know,” Coulson sighed. “That argument ended at a stalemate, I’m afraid. Right now they’re hoping Lužič is going to finish the antidote.”

Clint swallowed hard. The antidote. The one that didn’t exist yet... 

“If he doesn’t...” he began, but the beeping of one of the intercoms cut him off. Clearing his throat and nodding Clint to get back to his seat, Coulson pressed a button and started speaking to Sitwell, whose face had appeared on one of the screens. 

“ _Right, Ladies and Gentlemen,_ ” Sitwell’s voice spoke in Clint’s ear ten seconds later. “ _We will shortly be arriving at our destination in Alaska. We from SHIELD hope you’ve had a pleasant flight and hope to be welcoming you aboard again very soon. Having just received a call from the World Wildlife Fund, we would like to remind everybody that the area we will be operating in is a designated wilderness area in a forest that is part of a WWF ecoregion and home to several endangered species of flora and fauna. You are therefore requested not to litter or in any way damage the environment._ ”

“That means you collect your arrows before you leave, Hawkeye,” Coulson smirked and a chuckle went through the quinjet cabin.

***

“Fucking hell,” Ferrante cursed when she jumped the remaining distance into the helicopter and brushed Clint’s arm on her way inside. “They might be mercs, but _fucking hell_ , they pick a fight...!”

“Seems like they called for reinforcements since we shot them out of the sky,” Clint smirked, scanning the surrounding forest for movements, hostile or friendly. He saw Natasha running towards him and stepped aside to make space for her to jump in.

“I’m in,” Natasha panted into her earpiece, looking around the handful of agents already inside, two of them wounded lightly, and it didn’t take a second for Coulson to reply.

“ _All safe. Take off and let’s get out. Chopper one, wait and cover for chopper two, they’re surrounded and having some difficulties..._ ” 

Ducking away from the helicopter door when the sound of machine gun fire rattled through the air, Clint grabbed for the sniper rifle. 

“We’re under fire too,” he spoke into the comm, motioning Ferrante, who had taken her own gun, to stand by the other side of the door. “Gonna try and see if I can take them out. Kat, are you covering me?” 

“Aye,” she said, finding her balance. 

“Guys, this is going to get rough. Better hold on tight,” the pilot’s voice was audible and Clint and Ferrante shared a nod.

Trying to see where the shots were coming from, Clint did his best to ignore the roaring of the engines and the patter of gunfire as the helicopter slowly rose, shaking and jerking as bullets hit it from all sides. 

He could see water less than twenty feet below as the pilot tried to manoeuvre them away from the guns so they could gain height, yet stayed close enough to the second helicopter, that was barrelling through the air away from the plane wreck. 

“Looks like they’re safe,” the pilot commented eventually. “Hold on, then, guys. I’m taking us out.”

The helicopter swerved to the side when another wave of bullets hit it and Clint was thrown back into the cabin, landing half on top of another agent who groaned in pain. 

“Watch out!” he heard Natasha call and he saw how she moved towards the door, where Ferrante was half hanging out of the helicopter, holding on with one hand. Natasha had grabbed her by the wrist and was pulling her back inside, when the sound of more bullets hitting the side of the copter was audible and the entire vessel gave a sharp jerk. 

An almost surprised yelp was the last thing Clint heard before Natasha was gone from view. 

“Natasha!” he called, hurrying to the door and looking out. They were not that high yet...

He could make out the splash in the water below where her body had hit it, but it was impossible to tell how deep the water was, whether she’d be fine, whether she was still moving. 

“Natasha!” 

When the helicopter door closed before him, he slammed his fist into it.

“The fuck are you doing? Go back down, damn it!” he yelled at the pilot, who shook his head.

“Sorry, man, I have orders... We gotta go back.”

“That was before she _fell out of the goddamn door_ ,” Clint snarled, putting his hand to his in-ear. Ferrante, in the meantime, looked down at the water through the small window.

“I think she’s moving,” she muttered, looking at Clint. “She’s climbing onto the shore.”

“Control, we gotta go back, an agent was thrown off the vessel.” 

“ _Speak, Barton,_ ” Coulson replied immediately and Clint described the situation for him.

“We have to get her back,” he ended, grabbing his gun again. “We go back down, get her in and leave. Five minutes. Ten, tops. It’ll hardly matter-”

“ _Not now, Barton,_ ” Maria Hill’s voice cut off Coulson’s reply. “ _Return to the meeting point, then await further instructions._ ”

“We’re going back down!” Clint almost roared, the mere sound of Maria Hill’s voice a red flag. The other agents flinched. “Fucking right now!”

“ _You just said that Agent Romanoff appears to be moving and taking cover. You have wounded agents on your helicopter, Agent,_ ” Maria snarled. “ _You will take them back to the quinjet now and await further orders. Am I making this perfectly clear for you?_ ” 

Clint bit his tongue.

“Understood,” the pilot replied when Clint wouldn’t and Clint could feel the helicopter move under him, up and away from where Natasha had fallen out. Shaking with anger, he glared at the agents sitting on the floor, then at Ferrante, whose face seemed to have hardened into complete expressionlessness. 

Eventually, his in-ear crackled again as his private channel came through. 

“ _She’ll be all right, Clint. We’ll get her back._ ”

***

Coulson was the only person in the cockpit of the parked quinjet when Clint walked in; everyone else had been waiting in the cabin or outside. The words ‘Lužič’ and ‘missing’ and ‘Nineteen’ were audible from the speakers and Clint stepped closer. Coulson’s face was contorted with the faint trace of distress as he turned to look at him, acknowledging his presence before turning back to the comm.

“ _We need our men back here_ ,” Fury’s voice was audible and Coulson’s fingers dug into the control panelling in front of him. “ _In light of recent events..._ ”

“One of my agents is missing. I am commanding this op-” Coulson began, but Maria Hill cut him off.

“ _You are not. I am the one giving the orders._ ”

“Maria-”

“I _am giving the orders_ ,” Fury cut in. “ _Coulson, I will not risk my agents going on an impromptu rescue mission that might just be one big trap, looking for an agent whose status is currently more than just in question._ ”

“It is not in question!” Coulson snapped. “I’ve vouched-... You have no evidence, Fury, other than paranoia! Agent Romanoff is-”

“ _This is the Black Widow we’re talking about_ ,” Fury replied and Clint could feel anger burning up in his throat. 

“So what?” he blurted out, stepping up behind Coulson, glaring at the faces of Maria Hill and Nick Fury on screen. “I sleep in a bed with her and I’m still alive and kicking, aren’t I?”

“ _You are hardly a measure for security standards, Barton_ ,” Fury retorted and Clint let out a disbelieving laugh.

“You’re going to leave her, then? Out there? Fuck you, Fury!”

“ _Agent Barton, you are not aware-_ ” Hill began, but Clint cut her off.

“Of Bobbi being in medical?” he blurted out and Maria’s face hardened. “Well, I’m very much aware and here’s a newsflash for _you_ , Agent Hill - Natasha didn’t do it. Natasha _likes_ Bobbi. Bobbi’s been her friend ever since she joined SHIELD, which is more than can be said of either of you two. And you think Natasha would harm her over a handful of fucking darts she never fucking used anyway?” 

“ _Agent Barton!_ ” Fury sounded sincerely pissed off.

“She had no reason! No matter what the fuck you think, _she had no reason!_ ” Clint was roaring, his face red with anger, biting his cheeks and looking like he was fighting back the urge to rip the screen out of its sockets. 

“ _Agent Barton!_ ” Fury’s mask of impersonal superiority began to crackle, anger seeping through.

“Clint,” Coulson suddenly spoke quietly and, putting a hand on his shoulder, nodded towards the exit. Clint exhaled slowly and looked at Coulson, his voice stubborn.

“She didn’t do it. She was with me, for fuck’s sake. We... we have to get her back.”

Coulson made no reply, only pushed Clint towards the door and closed it behind him, then paused, not looking at the screen.

“ _Phil_ ,” Fury spoke, his face hard. Coulson turned towards him, eyes narrowed.

“You goddamn son of a bitch,” he muttered, stepping up to the screen and leaning into it. “Okay, now tell me exactly what it is I don’t know. Time to own up.” 

“ _You have your orders, Agent Coulson_ ,” Hill tried to end the conversation, but Coulson ignored her. 

“Come on, Fury! Spill!”

“ _What the hell are you playing at_ ,” Fury snapped, but Coulson dismissed him with a snarl.

“This discussion’s a fucking farce, that’s what I’m playing at! And I’m getting really rather tired of it,” he spat. “This isn’t about darts, or poison, or everybody’s favourite SHIELD girl.” His eyes were boring into Fury’s face. “You’re not that paranoid or stupid, Nick, and we both fucking know it. This is about something else and it’s my agent’s life on the line so I fucking deserve to know what’s going on. So stop giving me this crap about the Black Widow. This is about _you_.” 

“ _I have to remind you of your place, Agent_ ,” Fury replied icily and Coulson held his gaze for a moment, thinking frantically what Fury could possibly be hiding. 

“ _The Black Widow and her loyalties have always presented a security risk_ ,” Maria began, but Coulson was barely listening to her. Because Barton was right and Natasha had no motive to hurt Nineteen, and it didn’t make sense for Fury to believe she had unless...

...unless she _could_ have had a motive.

Phil’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. 

“You launched Mockingbird,” he spoke slowly, the flicker on Maria Hill’s face as she fell silent confirming his suspicions. He inhaled sharply, disbelief on his face. “Without approval from the council; you just did it. You chose Nineteen; she’s Mockingbird, isn’t she? And you set her on Natasha to spy on her... right from the start?” He shook his head slowly. “Because you didn’t trust her and her word. Or Barton’s word.” He paused. “Or mine,” he added quietly, bitterness in his voice. 

Fury didn’t reply. Coulson laughed humourlessly. 

“But because you don’t entirely trust Bobbi, either, you now think Natasha found out about your little plan and this is the price to pay...” 

“ _Agent_ ,” Fury replied, his voice aloof. “ _You have your orders. I am not going to repeat them._ ” 

“Don’t you fucking ‘Agent’ me, Nick. We’re well past that,” Coulson muttered and Fury looked like he wanted to reply something, but Coulson had already turned off the connection. 

“Everyone, I need you all in the quinjet for a quick update on our plans to get home,” he spoke into his earpiece and got up. “ _Pronto._ Ferrante, a word.”

 

Clint, crouching outside between bushes, grimaced when he heard Coulson’s voice in his ear. He gripped his bow tighter, his other hand touching the leather strap of his quiver harness, then moving down to the gun strapped to his thigh. Get back inside for a briefing on their retreat plans. 

Yeah, or maybe not. 

“ _Barton_ ,” came Coulson’s voice again, this time over a private channel. “ _Where are you?_ ”

Ducking out of sight when two agents walked past the bushes towards the quinjet to follow Coulson’s orders, Clint waited for them to disappear, glancing at the helicopter that was standing further away. The pilot had already left it to attend the briefing.

When he heard Maria Hill’s cool voice speaking over the mission comm channel prefacing their plans to return to base, Clint moved. 

The door of the helicopter wasn’t locked and he put his bow inside the cockpit, ready to pull himself up. 

“And what the hell do you think you’re doing, Barton?”

Turning around, his gun drawn and aimed, Clint looked at Coulson, who stepped around the helicopter from the other side, his face calm and serious. 

“I’m going back for her,” Clint replied, sticking his chin out in defiance. “I don’t care. Fire me, tell them that I... I don’t know, shot you in the knee, stole the helicopter and took off. But I’m not going home. No-one gets left behind.” 

“You know how to steal a helicopter?” Coulson asked, eyebrow raised, and Clint took a step back.

“I’ve hot-wired cars before. How hard can it be?”

“And how are you going to deal with the SHIELD tracking system without killing all the wiring on board and snuggling up real close to the treetops?” 

Clint swallowed, wondering whether Coulson was just buying time. 

“I’ll think of something.”

“Bet you will,” Coulson replied, taking a step towards Clint and pulling something from his pocket, dangling it from his fingers. “Or maybe I’ll take care of that. Now put your stupid gun down and get in before the briefing’s over.” 

Recognising the keys and chip card for the helicopter, Clint took a second to stare at Coulson before he nodded and got into the cockpit. Grabbing the keys from his fingers when he took a seat next to him, Clint took a deep breath. 

“I assume you know how to fly this thing, Barton,” Coulson smirked. “Because I sure as hell can’t both fly and talk you through disconnecting the tracker...”

***

Natasha could hear footsteps coming closer and covered her nose and mouth with her hand, cowering deeper into a little hole under a massive tree root sticking out of the ground. Pressing her lips together, she forced herself to steady her shaking breath.

Her lungs were burning and her ribs aching from the impact on the water. It had broken her fall enough to keep her from splitting her skull when she hit the stone bottom of the rather shallow pond, but her chest felt bruised, pain jolting through her lungs every time she inhaled. 

Voices called to each other across the bushes.

She had to move, she knew that. There was no way the mercs hadn’t seen her fall from the helicopter and even if she was lucky and they weren’t looking for her because they thought she was dead, they couldn’t find her while securing the area around their plane. She had to get away far enough to gather her wits and think about how she was going to get out of that mess she was in. 

Her gun and wristbands were still working, neither was affected by a little water. She wasn’t sure about her in-ear. It had shut itself off when it’d hit the surface of the pond, but it might still be functional. Whether or not it was going to be of use... was another question.

She shook her head, trying to chase the memory of the retreating SHIELD helicopter from her mind. She couldn’t lose her nerve; they’d been under fire, they might still be coming back for her.

Earth was trickling into the neckline of her suit and sticking to her wet skin. Her hands were muddy.

Move. She had to move. 

Listening intently for footsteps or other sounds that indicated somebody was close, she crawled out of her hole, gun in hand. 

Pain jolted through her body, her hip and ribcage protesting as she ran, heading away from where the voices had come from. She could see water to her right, a river, and wondered whether it would be easier to swim, let the current take her downstream. The water was damn cold, but maybe it would numb the pain a little... 

A bullet hit a tree between her and the river and sent splinters of wood flying. Natasha threw herself to the ground, rolling behind the next tree for cover. Her hand, when she raised her gun, was shaking.

“Get a grip, Romanoff,” she muttered, swallowing and peeking around the broad trunk. Aware that she was going to run out of ammunition soon if she wasted her bullets, she aimed carefully. 

The man was down; she wasn’t going to wait for more of them to come running. 

Sliding down a small slope, she hurried to reach the protection of thickets ahead, throwing a glance over her shoulder before diving into the dome of ivy tendrils twining across a construction of fallen branches and half collapsed trees. For a second she sat crouched down, listening and brushing a hairy spider off her leg before picking her commlink out of her ear. She turned it over in her hands, jerking and swiping at her face when she felt something crawl out of her hair. 

The earpiece came to life with a soft beeping sound and Natasha breathed a sigh of relief.

“Coulson,” she spoke quietly, waiting for a reply for far longer than she knew it would have taken him to reply. Shifting slightly when she felt thorns poke through her suit scratching her thigh, she repeated. “Coulson. This is Agent Romanoff.” Nothing. “Phil, are you there?” 

The comm remained silent. Natasha swallowed and breathed deeply, despite the pain it caused her.

“Clint?” 

When minutes passed without a reply, Natasha changed the channel again. Maybe the comm was just broken. Because of the water. Or the force of the impact.

“Mission Control,” she spoke quietly, eyes closed. “This is Agent Romanoff.” 

There was an empty clicking on the other end of the line and Natasha’s heart sank when she recognised what it meant. Mission Control was dead. The operation was over. Everyone was back and they were heading home... and Phil and Clint had disconnected entirely.

The black helicopter was retreating while she was falling down, down... hitting cold water.

It was really rather sobering.

Her fingers dug into the earth beneath her and she willed her hip to stop hurting from the position she was crouching in, determination seeping through her body. Checking the magazine of her gun and her wristbands, she made quick account of what she was left with to defend herself. She was almost out of darts, but she’d hardly used her gun. Her lungs and ribcage weren’t hurting as bad as before except where they had crashed into the rocks on the bottom of the pond. She might’ve cracked a couple of ribs, but nothing felt broken. 

She was not defeated. 

She was about to leave and crawl on through the thickets, when suddenly a voice spoke.

“ _Здравствуй, Наташа._ ”

Frozen in her movement, she looked down at her wristband. The voice that had come from one of the black digits sent a strange thrill down her spine. She swallowed, wondering whether she’d imagined it. 

“ _I’ve finally found you,_ ” the voice continued softly, smiling. “ _Чёрная вдова._ ”

***

“Is there any way to locate her?” Clint asked, looking down at the forest beneath them.

“No,” Coulson replied. “That was the downside of cutting our comm lines, I’m afraid. But right now I’ll take that over having to pretend I can’t hear Fury wishing fire and brimstone upon my head.” 

Clint side-eyed Coulson, who was pressing buttons on the control board. 

“What do you think they’ll do?” he asked. Coulson looked at him and pressed his lips together.

“Nothing - at least not straight away,” he replied. “Afterwards... well, let’s deal with that when we have to, shall we...” 

“So,” Clint cleared his throat. “The worst case scenario is, what, friendly fire?” 

“Ferrante is going to hold back information of what is going on as long as she can. We have to make the best of that,” Coulson avoided answering. Clint fell quiet for a moment. 

“And we trust her?” 

“We have to,” Coulson replied, pointing out a little clearing for Clint to land in. “Ferrante doesn’t believe Natasha hurt Bobbi. We have to hold on to that.” 

“Why is Fury so convinced she did it?” Clint asked, grimacing when the helicopter dropped a couple of feet before he caught it again. “I mean, she gave us everything on Hydra. Bobbi told me they decoded the rest of Nothung within days once Natasha started talking. The entire operation was cleaned up a month later.”

“True,” Coulson nodded, looking like he wasn’t sure how much he wanted to tell Clint. He swallowed. “What Natasha gave us was pure gold. But Hydra wasn’t her allegiance; she couldn’t have cared less about what we did with the information.”

“What do you mean?” Tongue between his teeth, Clint tried to manoeuvre the helicopter above the treetops towards the clearing. “Fuck, can you read me the signals?”

“You’re good,” Coulson complied, looking at the screens on the control panel. “Mind the rear and move her slowly. Don’t drop any lower before you’ve reached the clearing.” When Clint nodded his thanks, he sighed. “The Black Widow wasn’t a Hydra agent. She was involved in the operation, but certainly not on behalf of Hydra.”

“On whose behalf, then?” Clint muttered. “KGB?” 

“No. She worked with the KGB the same way she did with Hydra. And the mafia. Even MI6. And about fifty other organisations. She was loyal to none of them. Betrayed them all sooner or later.” 

“That the problem?” 

“More or less,” Coulson nodded. “We believe - although this is not confirmed - that her loyalty ultimately lay with the man who raised her. The man behind the Black Widow, one Ivan Petrovitch Bezukhov, whom we can’t seem to get a hold of at SHIELD.” He sighed. “He’s like a fucking shadow; we have no idea what his endgame is. She gave us everything when we debriefed her, but she never mentioned him once beyond confirming that he, in fact, raised her. Fury thinks that’s bad.”

“But you trust her?” 

Something in Coulson’s face twitched and he contemplated Clint for a moment. 

“I do.” He looked away, holding on when the helicopter swayed as Clint slowly lowered it onto the clearing. “If she worked for Petrovitch, he abandoned her that night in Vyborg. The man who raised her left her behind to die.” 

The helicopter touched ground and Coulson nodded approvingly, getting out of his seat and catching Clint’s gaze as they got out of the cockpit. 

“I refuse to do the same,” Coulson said firmly and Clint straightened up.

“We won’t,” he replied, a small, determined smile tugging at his lips. “No-one gets left behind.” 

Coulson smiled and Clint felt oddly proud of himself. Clearing his throat, he nodded towards the forest. 

“Okay, so... do we have a plan?” 

“Kind of,” Coulson replied, looking back inside the helicopter. “We can’t locate her in-ear, or contact her, and we can’t locate her through her comm’s frequency unless she’s actually talking to someone on the line...” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We have a scanner that can scan the area for life forms and movements and that might be our best shot right now. Which is, admittedly, not particularly productive,” he admitted, “Since this place is bound to be crawling with all sorts of animals. But we know where she fell out. Even if she wasn’t hurt badly, she won’t be moving very fast after that kind of a fall. We can make some educated guesses about the direction she moved in and combine that with whatever data we get...” 

He shrugged a little helplessly.

“Sounds good,” Clint nodded, following Coulson to the computer panel inside the helicopter cabin. “But how are _we_ going to do this? I mean, the earpieces are dead, right?” 

Coulson looked at him for a moment. Then he shook his head in a determined manner.

“We make a plan. We stick to it.” He pursed his lips for a moment. “You’re just gonna have to prove how good an agent you are, Barton.”

***

“What do you want from me?” Natasha breathed as she crawled through the bushes, one ear listening to sounds of movement around her.

“ _I’ve been looking for you, lapushka_ ,” the voice replied gently. “ _I want to bring you back home._ ” 

Natasha didn’t get around to replying; voices behind her set her scrambling along faster, out of the thickets. She got up and turned around, bullets whirring past her, hitting trees, rocks and bushes. She raised her gun and took aim. 

She had five bullets left. 

Two mercs went down and she had only three. 

She turned around and ran. 

“ _Your new friends have abandoned you, Natasha. They don’t think you’re worth saving,_ ” the voice continued to speak and Natasha could almost see its owner’s face, his thin lips and the cold spark of pride in his blue eyes.

“ _You_ abandoned me, Ivan,” she panted into her wristband. “You left me there, to die!” 

“ _Jelena left you,_ ” Ivan replied, his voice like steel. “ _I never would have. I’m the one who’s coming back for you now._ ” 

Something in Natasha’s stomach churned at the sound of his voice and she jumped into cover behind another tree. Her lungs had begun to hurt again and her hip was having trouble supporting her weight. Four men were still behind her and they were talking into what looked like a comm, probably requesting backup.

“Why should I believe you?” she replied, her voice bitter. 

“ _Because you know it’s true. Because I could never let you go, Natasha. You are family. You belong with us._ ” 

Us. Natasha closed her eyes, trying to chase the memory of the faces of the two men from her inner eye. Petrovitch, the stoic, silver-haired man who had named her, raised her, watched her like his greatest treasure throughout the years that she’d stood in the Red Room. And his soldier, who had stood opposite her, had taught her, challenged her, rejected, broken and mended her and had welcomed her in his arms when she had stepped out into the world. Family. 

Gasping, Natasha shook the thought off.

She could hear voices calling in a language she didn’t speak. She wasn’t sure whether she had moved in a circle or whether she’d been too distracted to notice, but suddenly there was movement in the forest all around her, branches cracking and bushes rustling. Three bullets. She only had three bullets. 

And she was surrounded. 

“ _We never stopped looking for you, lapushka. Even when SHIELD lured you in and used you, we never gave up on you. We’re always going to be there._ ”

A dart to the throat took out two, three mercs, and Natasha was running almost blindly through the gap in the circle of her followers that it created. Bullets were flying, voices were calling and a bush ahead of her caught fire. 

All she could hear was the echoing of Petrovitch’s voice in her head.

Tumbling down a sudden slope she found herself in a round pit, footsteps approaching rapidly from behind her. 

Caught. She was caught. 

“ _Come back home, Natasha. _”__

She put a hole through the first man’s head as soon as it was visible from the bottom of the pit. And the next one. And the next one. And then she was out of bullets.

She could hear more men approach, branches cracking beneath their heavy shoes and she looked around frantically for something to hide behind, utterly vulnerable in her position. The pit was too deep, the walls too earthy and bare to climb out quickly enough. There were only two darts left.

Getting ready to fire and then dodge, Natasha waited for the footsteps to get closer, her blood rushing in her ears.

They were almost here... almost... 

A shot echoed and one pair of footsteps died. The second pair slowed down and someone shouted out in surprise. Natasha could only just see the head of the second man approaching when another shot was audible and the man collapsed, blood pouring down his temple and cheek.

Silence followed and Natasha whirled around, looking at the trees that enclosed the pit. The shot must have come from somewhere to her right. 

She could see nothing but leaves and branches, a wall of plant life.

But someone was there, she realised. Someone had taken care of two of her followers for her.

Whether friend or foe was hard to tell.

“Who’s there?” she called, trying not to sound like she was afraid. She raised her wrist, aiming into the trees as if she knew where the phantom shooter sat, as if it made a difference. Whoever had taken out the two running men was a skilled shot and Natasha’s position down in the pit was equal to a silver platter.

“Who’s there?” she called again, scanning the thickets and branches for a sign, an indicator of the invisible marksman’s location.

Her wristband crackled again and this time the voice coming from it was not Petrovitch’s. 

“ _Didn’t I tell you that I was always going to have your back, Моя любовь?_ ” The hint of a smile was audible in his voice. “ _You can stop running now. I’m here._ ” 

Staggering back a step, Natasha felt a cold shiver run up her spine at the sound of the voice, _that_ voice. Eyes searching between the branches she tried to find its source, that familiar face, her ribs aching with every breath. 

“You...”

“ _I promised you, Natasha,_ ” Petrovitch’s quiet voice rang in her head. “ _We will never leave you behind._ ”

Natasha shook her head, transfixed. She hardly understood what he said.

“Why are you here?” she whispered, eyes on the tall tree where she knew the owner of the second voice to be. “How did you find...?”

“ _I’ll always find you, Natasha,_ ” the second voice smiled. “ _I’ve come to take you home. Leave this here behind and come home with me._ ” 

She could almost feel his eyes on her and her voice caught in her throat. He shouldn’t be affecting her like this, nobody should be affecting her like this. It was like he was inside her head, reducing her resolve to dust, whirling up things she had buried so deep, so long ago...

She tried not to think of the SHIELD helicopter retreating, further and further away, while she was falling, falling, finally hitting icy water. She noticed how cold she was and she knew he could see her shiver.

“It’s always winter at home,” she muttered wearily, not really sure what she wanted to say. His voice, when he answered, was low and smooth and he seemed amused, as if she had alluded to a private joke.

“ _Winter’s only cold if you haven’t got any warm memories. You should know that._ ”

Natasha closed her eyes. Memories. Not all of them were particularly warm, but yes, there were some... there were some memories of winter that weren’t cold...

When she opened her eyes again, she saw the flicker of an orange dot among the branches and she knew the laser beam was aimed at her forehead. The bitter taste of realisation stung on her palate.

So that was where it was at.

“It’s not winter anymore,” she replied quietly. 

She knew her darts weren’t strong enough to make it through the branches and hit before he pressed the trigger, even if she knew where he was now. He was too good a sniper, too fine a soldier. She wondered whether she could be fast enough to dodge, whether there was a way for her to...

“ _There isn’t,_ ” his soft voice spoke. When she didn’t reply, he added. “ _Remember, I always know what you’re thinking. I taught you._ ”

“And now you’re going to kill me,” Natasha mouthed, more to herself than to him.

“ _Come home with me, Natasha,_ ” he said and there was a tired finality to his voice.

Natasha had no doubt that he knew the moment when she made up her mind. She fired her last two darts and let herself fall to her knees when she heard the shot. 

Rolling to the side, she was almost in shock to find she was still alive when she got to her feet again. Looking up, she saw the scorched branches and burning leaves of the sniper’s tree and she realised with a rush of light-headedness that the shot she’d heard hadn’t been aimed at her at all.

She heard something move at the edge of the pit behind her and turned around just in time to see an arrow zoom over her head, hitting the tree again, sending more branches up in flames as the arrowhead exploded. 

A muted cry of pain and a curse were audible over the comm in her wristband. 

“Natasha!” 

Clint’s voice. Not through her comm, but from behind her.

He’d come back. He was right there.

“Run!” 

She moved blindly, scrambling up the slope on all fours, ignoring the bullet that hit the ground less than an inch beside her. On, she had to keep going on, towards the snapping sound of Clint’s bowstring as it released arrow after arrow.

Stumbling along next to Clint, more than half her weight carried by him as they ran for their lives, Natasha tried her best to keep breathing. 

A bullet hit the ground not far off and Clint cursed. 

“I fucking shot his arm off!” he pressed out and Natasha groaned in pain when they jumped a fallen tree trunk. 

“Wrong arm,” she panted and his grip around her waist tightened. 

“Almost there,” he coughed out and the forest ahead of them parted. Natasha could see Coulson, gun in hand, standing in front of the big, black SHIELD helicopter, firing at the forest behind them. 

A moment later she felt his arms around her as he grabbed her and carried her inside the cabin while Clint jumped into the cockpit and fired up the engines.

“Thank god,” she heard Coulson’s whisper against her temple as he pressed a kiss to her head, holding her against him when the helicopter took off with a violent jerk. 

***

“I’m... pretty sure I broke it,” Clint sighed, turning around in his seat to look at Coulson, who sat on the cockpit floor leaning against the wall, Natasha still cradled against him. She was wrapped into an emergency blanket, her hair greasy and filthy with earth, but mostly dry by now.

The helicopter had been hit by a handful of well-aimed shots as they had tried to gain height and Clint had been forced to put it down on a smallish plateau a couple of miles away. It hadn’t been a very smooth landing.

“What now?” he asked, looking from Natasha to Coulson, who looked tired, but calm. Both of them were holding bottles of water they had found back in the cabin.

“We wait,” Coulson replied. “Nothing much we can do, anyway. ” 

Silence fell and Clint sighed with exhaustion, scratching his head and getting out of his seat to slump down next to Coulson and Natasha, groaning. 

“Are you hurt?” Natasha asked and Clint shook his head.

“Just a scratch. Won’t even make a good scar, so not worth mentioning...” He turned his head to the side to look at Coulson. “Did you cut the comms for good? Or is there any chance we can... you know, get an update?” 

“I’m not sure,” Coulson narrowed his eyes at the control panel in thought. “Possibly.” He eyed Clint. “You’re thinking of Nineteen.”

“I just want to know...” Clint began, then fell quiet. 

“What happened?” Natasha asked, sitting up a little, frowning. She looked at Coulson. “Why did you cut the comm line?”

“We kind of had to,” Clint replied in Coulson’s stead. “Or they would’ve known straight away that we... uhm...” 

“We didn’t _strictly speaking_ act on orders when we came to get you,” Coulson stated neutrally and Natasha’s face hardened when she realised what it meant. 

“They really did want to leave me behind,” she whispered. Coulson’s lips were a thin line.

“They were being difficult about it,” he replied quietly. Clint cleared his throat.

“Nineteen was found paralysed in her apartment this morning,” he explained. “It’s... your poison.”

“And Fury thinks I did it,” Natasha replied, her voice hard. “Without a motive?” 

“Because she got your darts confiscated,” Coulson answered tiredly. “They were developing an antidote and last I heard Lužič was kidnapped, or missing, so there was nobody to help, either...” 

“They think I first agreed to have my kit examined and then made a show of killing the two scientists because... what, because I’m me? Is _that_ how much SHIELD trusts me?” 

Natasha had gone very pale and Clint suddenly felt like he wanted to vomit. There was a sobering truth to Natasha’s words that made him feel rather sick with the situation.

“Fury doesn’t trust anyone,” Coulson snorted bitterly, looking conflicted for a moment. He sighed. “He’s suspicious you’re still loyal to Petrovitch.”

Natasha looked taken aback, flicker of vulnerability flashing across her face. Clint thought he’d seen that look before, earlier in the forest. She wet her lips, seemingly at odds with what to say. 

“And you?” she eventually asked into the silence, looking at Coulson, then Clint. 

It was quiet for a while, the air heavy with tension.

“You never did anything to make me doubt you,” Coulson eventually spoke.

“You sat through my fucking interrogation,” Natasha snorted. “You know better than most how trustworthy my past actions make me.”

“I was also there when you were given a clean slate and a blank file,” Coulson replied evenly. “That’s the one that counts in my book.” He removed his arm from her shoulder when she sat up completely. “You wouldn’t be my agent if I didn’t trust you.” 

Natasha was quiet for a moment, lost in her own thoughts. Then she looked at Clint, the question evident in her eyes. He held her gaze.

“I know where you were last night,” he replied darkly. “My masculinity could not possibly survive the blow if I believed for a split second that you had spare time to poison Bobbi...”

Natasha glared at him and he grimaced, a little embarrassed.

“With all the possibilities you’ve had to kill me, I’m having a hard time thinking you want to,” he added, rubbing his face, a half-hearted grin on his face. “For what it’s worth, I trust you with my life. I have no reason; I just do.”

Natasha let out a strange, short laugh, then sank back against the wall, her legs drawn up to her chest.

Clint leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes, while Coulson got up and busied himself with the comm station, pulling out a couple of wires and pondering them with a critical look. 

“I think I have a better chance at getting one of our in-ears back online...”

Clint cocked an eyebrow in amusement, eyes still closed.

“Took out some aggression on those wires, did you?”

“I would never,” Coulson replied dryly and Clint chuckled. 

“Mine should still work,” Natasha said absent-mindedly, plucking out her earpiece and throwing it at Coulson. “It took some water and dirt, but I think it’s generally functional.”

Catching it, Coulson turned it over in his hands and brushed some mud off it before putting it into his ear and listening with a sceptical look on his face. Every now and then he touched his hand to it. 

“Sounds like it’s jammed,” he eventually said. “It’s stuck on an expired channel.”

“Mission Control,” Natasha nodded. “That was the last one I tried after you two didn’t reply.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Clint smirked and put an arm around Natasha’s shoulders, pulling her close. She winced in pain, but didn’t struggle. Coulson let himself fall into the pilot seat, brows furrowed as he tried to pry Natasha’s earpiece open.

“Sturdy little buggers,” he muttered, half to himself, then sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Can they locate us through this one?” Clint asked and Coulson contemplated it for a moment.

“Most likely. It’s jammed, not broken. The signal should be there.” He glanced at the wires that stuck out of the control panel. “I wonder if redirecting the signal to the main radio would get us around the blockage and allow us to transmit. Or at least receive properly...”

Clint eyed him languidly, lips pressed into Natasha’s hair.

“You don’t seriously expect me to have an informed opinion on that, do you? Anything you say sounds intelligent to me...”

“An ever-present comfort,” Coulson muttered and comfortable quiet descended onto the helicopter. 

 

“Got it,” Coulson finally broke the silence. Tongue between his lips he turned a couple of buttons, then gave the earpiece a small tap. Crackling came out of one of the speakers on the control panel and he frowned. He slammed his fist onto the board and the crackling gave way to a low humming noise.

“Give it another bitchslap and it might play music,” Clint suggested and Coulson glared at him, his fingers still around one of the buttons, turning slowly. 

“I’m trying to find an active channel,” he replied, looking at his watch. “There’s gotta be some update by now...” 

Clint fell silent. It was Natasha, who spoke, for the first time since she had given Coulson her in-ear. She was draped against Clint’s side in a manner that didn’t hurt her chest, her head relaxed against his shoulder. 

“I think I know who might’ve done it,” she said quietly and Coulson looked at her, eyebrows raised. She wet her lips. “Bobbi. It was something Ivan said...”

“Ivan?” Clint asked and Natasha raised her hand, nodding at her wristband.

“He decided to have a chat.” She grabbed one of the water bottles that stood on the floor next to Clint and took a sip of water, avoiding Coulson’s gaze, her forehead slightly worried. She shook off one of the the dart bands and threw it onto the floor. She looked tired. “You know... Fury might have been right about him. A little, at least.” She glanced up at Coulson. “I gave you everything, except that.”

“Why?” Clint asked, looking like he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. She shook her head and sat up, looking at him, then at Coulson, her voice defensive.

“Because I didn’t know...” She took a deep breath and her expression closed. “Because I didn’t trust SHIELD. Not completely.”

“And now you do?” Coulson asked carefully, sounding as if he wasn’t entirely sure whether he thought it was a good idea, and Natasha bit her lip, eyes narrowed. 

“I trust you,” she replied simply. 

A small, soft smile spread on Coulson’s face and he nodded. Natasha smiled back at him for a moment, then she took a deep breath.

“He knew, you see,” she said bitterly. “He knew SHIELD was going to turn on me. I mean... he could’ve just been biding his time, but...” She pursed her lips. “He was there. Right on time, when he knew I’d be weak. Like he knew it was going to happen. Like he planned it.”

She looked up. Coulson didn’t reply and Clint knew better than to open his mouth again. 

“He wanted me back,” Natasha continued slowly. “He offered me one last chance to come back before he cut me off.”

“You’re valuable to him,” Coulson stated.

“No, he doesn’t trust me anymore. He betrayed me, but I survived. Which means I’m a _threat_ to him,” Natasha countered. “I’ve been compromised, he’s not taking the risk of me being loyal to SHIELD. It was either come back, or die.”

“So he poisoned Bobbi?” Clint asked, sounding a little confused.

“It would make sense,” Coulson nodded quietly. “All he needed to do was stir up some distrust. Hurt Nineteen, whom you were close with, get rid of Lužič, who could have helped her, leave some implicative traces...” His face grew dark. “What disturbs me is the amount of inside knowledge he must have of SHIELD in order to engineer something like this...”

“I wouldn’t be too surprised,” Natasha said warily. “Ivan’s influence reaches most places.” 

“If you’re that valuable he might keep trying to get at you,” Clint threw in and Natasha laughed humourlessly, shaking her head. 

“No, he won’t. He used his highest trump card on this one. He took care to make that very clear.” 

Clint frowned.

“The sniper in the forest?”

There was a hint of sadness on Natasha’s face.

“The last weakness he could be sure I still had.”

Coulson didn’t say anything, only smiled a little ruefully. Clint grimaced, feeling oddly self-conscious when he understood. 

“So he was... uhm...” he nodded, exhaling slowly. “He _is_.” 

“The one man,” she muttered and glanced up at Clint. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...”

“He was going to kill you.” Clint replied, not quite yet ready to process all of what he’d just realised. 

“Yeah, he was.” Natasha regarded him, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. “But, you see, this is... he... it’s more complicated than you and me, Barton.” 

Because they’d never been... Clint didn’t really know what they had or hadn’t been up to that point. He’d have said they were lovers, dating, somehow together. Now the confirmation that Natasha had never actually loved him that way brought with it the strange realisation that Clint was not entirely confident that he had, either. He thought that it should have hurt more, but it didn’t, not if he was being honest with himself and his pride. 

Lost in thought, he put his hand over one of hers and swallowed. The thought of leaving her behind, of losing her, had been unbearable. It still was, he could hear his heart thumping up at the idea. The thought of never sleeping with her again felt almost ridiculously trivial in comparison. 

Clint laughed quietly and looked up at her, holding her gaze for a moment. Then he shook his head, his voice steady and gentle.

“You know, I think... you and me are actually rather simple.”

“Yeah?” Her voice was thin. He squeezed her hand.

“There’s you and there’s me. We stick up for each other. Not that complicated, really.”

He tried not to hurt her any more than she already was when he returned her embrace, his face buried in the crook of her neck, inhaling the earthy smell of her hair. She muttered something he couldn’t understand and he smiled, stroking her back gently.

The crackling and singing of the comm broke their moment of shared understanding and they looked over at Coulson, who had watched the scene with an uncomfortable expression of feeling a little out of place, and now narrowed his eyes at the earpiece, focused on adjusting the frequency. Single syllables and disrupted words began to trickle through. Coulson turned the button a split millimetre more and Maria Hill’s agitated voice rang through the cockpit as she seemingly argued with...

“Bobbi,” Clint breathed with relief.

***

“You crashed one of my helicopters, Coulson,” Fury greeted him as he entered his office.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Coulson replied, face expressionless.

“You can’t afford to buy me a new helicopter, I know what I pay you,” Fury grumbled and Coulson followed him with his eyes as he started pacing his office.

“You’d be surprised, sir,” he said, his voice cool. “And I sincerely hope you’ve not called me up here to talk about one helicopter.” 

Fury looked decidedly uncomfortable as he sat down.

“Take a seat, Coulson.”

“Thank you, sir. I’d rather stand.”

“Take a goddamn seat, Phil,” Fury snapped, rubbing his forehead. “I take it you’ve been to medical and talked to Ferrante?” 

“I was there when you called me to come see you,” Coulson replied calmly, sitting down in the chair opposite Fury’s desk. 

When Sitwell had brought them back to HQ, Coulson had seen to it that Natasha and Clint saw a doctor, while he himself had visited Ferrante, who was currently recovering from the severe burns that she had contracted when Lužič’s private lab had blown up around her. She had barely made it out alive, but she had brought the antidote and Lužič’s notes on the formula with her. Bobbi had left medical half an hour after Ferrante had been brought in. 

“Then you know Lužič is probably dead,” Fury said and Coulson nodded. 

“The odds are not in his favour. I don’t think creating that antidote was part of Bezukhov’s plans for him.” 

“Franc was a good scientist,” Fury muttered. “I wonder what Bezukhov had on him. That’s something Nineteen never found out.”

“Considering it’s Bezukhov, it could be anything.” Coulson’s voice was tight. 

Fury contemplated him for a while, then sighed. 

“I know you’re still mad at me, Phil. Mockingbird-”

“Oh, I am fucking mad at you,” Coulson snapped, cutting him off. “And you know why? Because the man had a fucking _field day_ playing us against each other. He blackmailed one single scientist into sowing a little distrust to make us turn on Natasha. And guess what, that little was all it took because luckily you already don’t trust a fucking soul in here!” He was breathing agitatedly, eyes boring into Fury’s face. “Petrovitch need hardly have bothered because you already _had_ one agent spy on the other. And it almost killed Bobbi, not to mention what happened to Ferrante, or the fact that you were this close to losing three of your top agents. ‘Mockingbird’ doesn’t even begin to cut how mad I am at you, Nick.”

Coulson was livid and Fury took a moment to reply. 

“I’m not even gonna say you shouldn’t be mad at me,” he eventually said. “You’re right. That was a nasty piece of work and it can’t happen again.” He straightened up. “But as much as you dislike it, Phil, you know damn well that I can’t afford to trust many people in my position.” 

Phil averted his eyes, lips pursed. He nodded curtly, his face sour, as if he was swallowing down a whole mouthful of words he’d have liked to reply.

“I will apologise, though,” Fury continued slowly, eye set hard on Coulson. “That I didn’t trust you on this. I usually do. I’m sorry I didn’t this time.” 

Coulson was quiet for a moment, then nodded.

“Reading the report you handed me I also realise,” Fury added quietly, “that you did not compromise Mockingbird.”

“It would have done more damage than good, sir,” Coulson replied evenly.

“It makes you a better man than most.” Fury looked rueful. “And it makes me realise just how much SHIELD, or rather, how much _I_ need men like you. I owe you for this.”

Coulson shifted uncomfortably.

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Phil,” Fury added. “You do know that I’m going to suspend you for a week, right?”

“I’d be lying if I said I was very surprised.” Coulson sounded pacified against his will. “I was expecting worse, to be honest...”

“Don’t think I’m liking it,” Fury growled. “I was actually going to give you one of those long-term military missions you dislike so much, but the council was adamant.” Fury took a file off a stack of papers and leafed through it. “It’s a pity, though. You’d be just the man, if you ask me. A certain General Ross needs some supervision from what we’ve been hearing... I’m not sure you know him.” Coulson shook his head. “Well, in any case, it sounded like something round about your area of... expertise. But,” Fury heaved a big sigh and glared at Coulson, “it looks like I am going to assign this to Ferrante instead, as soon as she gets out of medical.”

“And what did she do to deserve this kind of punishment?” Coulson asked nonchalantly, eyebrow raised. 

“First of all, she neglected to tell me that you and Barton had gone all Captain fucking America on us with your breakneck rescue mission. Don’t think I don’t know she was in on the plan. And afterwards she decided to ignore her direct orders to stay put and went snooping in Lužič’s things instead.”

“Which saved Bobbi’s life.”

“It did. That is why I’m promoting her and assigning her an undercover mission instead of forcing her to retire.” Fury raised a hand in defence before Phil could protest. “I’m not being a dick, Coulson. Kat’s a soldier. You know that. The kind of damage her lungs have taken from that fire and those burns? Those are career-ending wounds for a field agent. She won’t go back into battle, ever, but this case with Ross means a high ranking position in the US military for her if she plays it right. It’s as close as she’ll ever again get to being a soldier.” 

Coulson closed his mouth, a hollow feeling spreading in his gut. 

“I understand.” 

He did. He’d seen the look in Ferrante’s eyes when he’d visited her, even though he hadn’t known about her lung damage at the time. She’d thrown away her career to save Bobbi and she was well aware of it. 

As much as Phil disliked Fury at the moment, he was handing Ferrante a new life with this reassignment.

“Now you,” Fury said, getting up and adjusting his coat. “Are going to get Romanoff and Barton in here because I need a word with both of them. And afterwards you’re going to make very damn sure they stay out of my sight for the next seven days for which you’re all suspended. Don’t think for a moment I’ve not thought of appropriate ways of punishment if I spot one of you here at HQ.”

“Understood, sir.” 

Fury eyed him.

“Is there any reason why you’re still in this office, Coulson?”

“There is, actually,” Coulson replied, pulling a small datapad from his pocket and placing it on top of Fury’s files. “This,” he explained, “is all the information Agent Romanoff has on Ivan Petrovitch Bezukhov.” He watched Fury’s eye widen and continued slowly. “I am giving you this on three conditions.”

“You’re being rather impertinent, Phil.”

“One,” Coulson said, unfazed, “Agent Romanoff’s loyalty will never again be in question without irrevocable proof. Two,” he counted on his fingers, “Her security level gets raised to Barton’s and she stays with me as her handler. Three -”

“Don’t push it, Coulson.”

“This is her request, not mine.” Coulson’s face was serious. “Whatever you choose to do with the information on this pad, you leave her out of it. She will not be involved.” 

Fury held Coulson’s gaze for a moment, then glanced down at the data pad. 

“Are you trying to strong-arm me, Phil?”

“No, Nick, I am offering you a deal.” He paused. “I’m letting you promote me into that committee you’ve been bugging me about. As long as I get to keep my job in the Hydra division and stay on active mission duty as handler for Barton and Romanoff. I’ll hand over my spy networks in Eastern Europe. Give them to someone else.”

Fury contemplated him for a moment. 

“Sitwell can have them,” he replied grimly. “He’s been romancing bureaucracy a bit too much for my taste. It’ll do him good.”

“So we have a deal?” Phil asked and Fury narrowed his eye at him. 

“We do.” He took the pad. “Now get the hell out.”

***

He could hear Clint’s cries of protest before he had even opened the door to his apartment.

“...right now! I wasn’t finished! You can’t-”

“I can!” Natasha’s firm voice replied, followed by sounds of Clint obviously struggling with something. 

Walking through the living room towards the kitchen, Phil could hear someone rummaging around his drawers over the voices coming from the TV. He noticed how a second bag had joined Clint’s on the floor next to the couch. 

“Natasha, I swear if you-” Clint cried, when he spotted Phil standing in the door. “Tell her to unbind me this instant! She’s ruining dinner!” 

“I’m _saving_ dinner, now hand me the phone!” Natasha protested, stepping towards Clint, who was on the floor, clutching the phone with both his hands. Phil noticed how they were tied behind his back by the ribbons of the apron he was sporting. 

“Never!” Clint pressed out, pain on his face when Natasha began to pry his fingers off the phone one by one. 

“Will it be conducive to my sanity if I ask what this is about?” Phil asked gingerly and Natasha groaned in exasperation.

“It’s really simple,” she said. “I’m ordering pizza. I’m not eating whatever it is he thinks he’s cooking there...”

“It’s not finished yet!” Clint shoved Natasha off of him and struggled to get into an upright position. “I have to fold the mascarpone in and then get it into the oven...! _Stop it!_ ” He broke out in giggles when Natasha changed her strategy of attack and started to tickle him. 

Glancing at the collection of empty beer bottles on the kitchen table, Phil stepped over the groaning bodies of his agents and lifted the lid off the biggest pot. 

“What on earth is this,” he burst out laughing and flinched a little when Clint kicked him in the shins. Phil looked at Natasha. “Where were you going to order pizza from?”

“Blue leaflet,” she replied, smugly holding the phone up and out of Clint’s reach as she climbed off him. 

“Take the green one, they’re faster,” Phil replied, crouching down to unbind Clint’s hands. “The apartment’s under the name of Stevens, by the way.” 

“I noticed,” Natasha chuckled as she fled into the living room, leaving Clint lying on the floor.

“Make sure to get Phil the Captain America special,” Clint called after her. “And don’t bother asking me which one I’d like!” 

Pouting, he slumped back against the kitchen cabinet. 

“Cheer up, Hawkeye,” Phil chuckled, helping himself to a beer before sitting down next to Clint. “We can always eat your stuff later.”

“Are you mad, this is going to be poisonous within the hour,” Clint muttered darkly. “But if you tell Natasha that, I swear, I’ll use you for target practice...”

“Clint,” Phil replied, looking at him sceptically. “Save the threats for when you’re not wearing my mother’s apron.” He paused and frowned. “Where did you even _find_ it?”

**Author's Note:**

> Written in late August 2012
> 
> I still don't speak Russian, but I'm vain about inserting it. Apologies.
> 
> Like with Bobbi Morse, I have taken my liberties when it came to integrating people from Natasha's past into the storyline, since comic canon is not really compatible with the MCU (or my headcanon) in this regard. 
> 
> Again, all my thanks goes to my lovely betas [nerakrose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nerakrose) and [mrs_jack_turner](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_jack_turner/pseuds/mrs_jack_turner) for being honest about all the things that didn’t work out in this fic and constructively pointing me towards what needed improvement.


End file.
